Selections from American poetry Part 20

Where the crystal Ambijejis Stretches broad and clear, And Millnoket's pine-black ridges Hide the browsing deer: Where, through lakes and wide mora.s.ses, Or through rocky walls, Swift and strong, Pen.o.bscot pa.s.ses White with foamy falls;

Where, through clouds, are glimpses given Of Katahdin's sides,-- Rock and forest piled to heaven, Torn and ploughed by slides!

Far below, the Indian trapping, In the sunshine warm; Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping Half the peak in storm!

Where are mossy carpets better Than the Persian weaves, And than Eastern perfumes sweeter Seem the fading leaves; And a music wild and solemn From the pine-tree's height, Rolls its vast and sea-like volumes On the wind of night;

Not for us the measured ringing From the village spire, Not for us the Sabbath singing Of the sweet-voiced choir Ours the old, majestic temple, Where G.o.d's brightness shines Down the dome so grand and ample, Propped by lofty pines!

Keep who will the city's alleys, Take the smooth-shorn plain,-- Give to us the cedar valleys, Rocks and hills of Maine!

In our North-land, wild and woody, Let us still have part: Rugged nurse and mother st.u.r.dy, Hold us to thy heart!

O, our free hearts beat the warmer For thy breath of snow; And our tread is all the firmer For thy rocks below.

Freedom, hand in hand with labor, Walketh strong and brave; On the forehead of his neighbor No man writeth Slave!

Lo, the day breaks! old Katahdin's Pine-trees show its fires, While from these dim forest gardens Rise their blackened spires.

Up, my comrades! up and doing!

Manhood's rugged play Still renewing, bravely hewing Through the world our way!

BARCLAY OF URY

Up the streets of Aberdeen, By the kick and college green, Rode the Laird of Ury; Close behind him, close beside, Foul of mouth and evil-eyed, Pressed the mob in fury.

Flouted him the drunken churl, Jeered at him the serving-girl, Prompt to please her master; And the begging carlin, late Fed and clothed at Ury's gate, Cursed him as he pa.s.sed her.

Yet, with calm and stately mien, Up the streets of Aberdeen Came he slowly riding; And, to all he saw and heard, Answering not with bitter word, Turning not for chiding.

Came a troop with broadswords swinging, Bits and bridles sharply ringing, Loose and free and froward; Quoth the foremost, "Ride him down!

Push him! p.r.i.c.k him! through the town Drive the Quaker coward!"

But from out the thickening crowd Cried a sudden voice and loud "Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!"

And the old man at his side Saw a comrade, battle tried, Scarred and sunburned darkly;

Who with ready weapon bare, Fronting to the troopers there, Cried aloud: "G.o.d save us, Call ye coward him who stood Ankle deep in Lutzen's blood, With the brave Gustavus?"

"Nay, I do not need thy sword, Comrade mine," said Ury's lord; "Put it up, I pray thee: Pa.s.sive to His holy will, Trust I in my Master still, Even though He slay me.

"Pledges of thy love and faith, Proved on many a field of death, Not, by me are needed."

Marvelled much that henchman bold, That his laud, so stout of old, Now so meekly pleaded.

"Woe's the day!" he sadly said, With a slowly shaking head, And a look of pity; "Ury's honest lord reviled, Mock of knave and sport of child, In his own good city!

"Speak the word, and, master mine, As we charged on Tilly's line, And his Walloon lancers, Smiting through their midst we'll teach Civil look and decent speech To these boyish prancers!"

"Marvel not, mine ancient friend, Like beginning, like the end:"

Quoth the Laird of Ury, "Is the sinful servant more Than his gracious Lord who bore Bonds and stripes in Jewry?

"Give me joy that in His name I can bear, with patient frame, All these vain ones offer; While for them He suffereth long, Shall I answer wrong with wrong, Scoffing with the scoffer?

"Happier I, with loss of all, Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, With few friends to greet me, Than when reeve and squire were seen, Riding out from Aberdeen, With bared heads to meet me.

"When each goodwife, o'er and o'er, Blessed me as I pa.s.sed her door; And the snooded daughter, Through her cas.e.m.e.nt glancing down, Smiled on him who bore renown From red fields of slaughter.

"Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, Hard the old friend's falling off, Hard to learn forgiving; But the Lord His own rewards, And His love with theirs accords, Warm and fresh and living.

"Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking; Knowing G.o.d's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest For the full day-breaking!"

So the Laird of Ury said, Turning slow his horse's head Toward the Tolbooth prison, Where, through iron grates, he heard Poor disciples of the Word Preach of Christ arisen!

Plot in vain, Confessor old, Unto us the tale is told Of thy day of trial; Every age on him who strays From its broad and beaten ways Pours its sevenfold vial.

Happy he whose inward ear Angel comfortings can hear, O'er the rabble's laughter; And, while Hatred's f.a.gots burn, Glimpses through the smoke discern Of the good hereafter.

Knowing this, that never yet Share of Truth was vainly set In the world's wide fallow; After hands shall sow the seed, After hands from hill and mead Reap the harvest yellow.

Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, Must the moral pioneer From the Future borrow; Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And, on midnight's sky of rain, Paint the golden morrow!

ALL'S WELL

The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake Our thirsty souls with rain; The blow most dreaded falls to break From off our limbs a chain; And wrongs of man to man but make The love of G.o.d more plain.

As through the shadowy lens of even The eye looks farthest into heaven On gleams of star and depths of blue The glaring sunshine never knew!

RAPHAEL

I shall not soon forget that sight: The glow of autumn's westering day, A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, On Raphael's picture lay.

It was a simple print I saw, The fair face of a musing boy; Yet, while I gazed, a sense of awe Seemed blending with my joy.

A simple print:--the graceful flow Of boyhood's soft and wavy hair, And fresh young lip and cheek, and brow Unmarked and clear, were there.

Yet through its sweet and calm repose I saw the inward spirit shine; It was as if before me rose The white veil of a shrine.

As if, as Gothland's sage has told, The hidden life, the man within, Dissevered from its frame and mould, By mortal eye were seen.

Was it the lifting of that eye, The waving of that pictured hand?

Loose as a cloud-wreath on the sky, I saw the walls expand.

The narrow room had vanished,--s.p.a.ce, Broad, luminous, remained alone, Through which all hues and shapes of grace And beauty looked or shone.

Around the mighty master came The marvels which his pencil wrought, Those miracles of power whose fame Is wide as human thought.